


The Ghosts of St. Paul's

by serendipityxxi



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, London, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipityxxi/pseuds/serendipityxxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booth and Brennan talk about ghosts, definitely not about Zack in Yanks in the UK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts of St. Paul's

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Disclaimed
> 
> Set after 4x01 but before 4x02 so BB are in England but not investigating a case

"Y'know Bones, I wouldn't have thought you'd want to come with me today."

Temperance Brennan gave her partner a sidelong look. They were seated on the steps outside St. Paul's Cathedral, panting in the late summer heat after climbing to the top of the dome and back down. Twilight was coming on quickly, long blue shadows overtaking the yellow fingers of sunshine that clutched at the stone. Around them tourists were still bustling in and out of the enormous church. 

"I can appreciate the architecture and history of a place without believing in the purpose for which it was created, Booth," she reminded him in the same tone Parker delivered the word "Duh!"  


Booth smiled despite himself and her tone. He threw an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side. Bones went without comment. Though they had been very careful about touching each other all summer, today she rested her head on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing, like she hadn't since the day they caught Gormogon but lost Zack. They sat quietly and people watched as their breathing and heart rates slowed. And for the first time since they'd landed in London Booth found he was enjoying himself. The peace of the church had worked its way into his heart as he'd hoped it would, he felt centred and if not like he belonged, like this was a good place to be.

That was half the reason why he'd had his little explosion in the car earlier in the week. He didn't belong in London, he had no purpose here. This though, he glanced up at the white dome that reminded him so much of the Capitol's dome, its sides gleaming in the last rays of sunshine, St. Paul's and the history of believers who had come before him, this he understood. 

Bones surprised him again with her next words. "There's a story about a ghost here at St. Paul's, you know," she told him.

Booth turned to her, eyebrows arched. 

She paused to inform him seriously. "There is no proof that ghosts exist, Booth, but the stories of them are often full of history and gives insight into the culture that created them." 

"And you like being creeped out, it's okay to admit it Bones," he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I should think given my profession it would be impossible to 'creep me out'," she assured him.

Booth grinned. "So tell me your ghost story, Bones," he encouraged before she got too distracted.

Brennan huffed but sat back and began her tale. "Late at night when the church is closed the guards of the All Souls chapel here would often report hearing a strange tuneless whistling sound and seeing a grey figure sitting in the pews, or wandering the church. Of course when they went to speak to him he'd walk down the aisle and vanish into the wall as is typical of most ghost stories. What many don't know is that in 1925 when they were doing some renovations to the chapel they found a hidden door in the stonework with a spiral stair leading straight up into the top of the tower. There they found a grey habit and the remnants of papers that once belonged to a monk. Once the door was discovered and the habit and papers removed the apparition was never reported again."

"Ouch! Someone walled him up in there?" Booth asked.

"There were no skeletal remains, Booth, just the habit and the papers," Brennan informed him, immediately deflating his wild imagination of the monk pounding away at the wall.

"So, you think he just wanted his stuff back?" Booth chuckled.

"I think the guards were superstitious people in an old and 'creepy'," she gave him a look as she used his word, "building, late at night." 

"Bones!" he groaned.

"I do think it's possible there was a monk who found his work so important that it consumed his every thought. It's possible he got so lost in his work that he forgot about the world maybe, and in turn the world forgot about him," she added and he could hear the sadness colouring her voice.

He wondered if she was thinking of Zack, so wrapped up in his logic that he forgot about the reality of the world or if she worried they would forget her protégé now that he was imprisoned so far away. He wanted to assure her they wouldn't forget Zack, that he wouldn't be just a lab coat and some notes to them but he didn't know how she would take that. She almost seemed to blame him sometimes. He wished he'd seen the kid was in trouble but he'd fooled them all, even Hodgins who lived with Zack hadn't guessed that he was floundering so badly. 

"They didn't forget him though Bones, he's been dead more than a hundred years and yet here you and I are wondering about his story," Booth finally said very gently. 

Brennan nodded. 

"Maybe that's the real purpose of ghost stories; they keep the past with us. The dead may not come back but maybe telling the stories helps us to remember them and acknowledge that they lived," Booth continued. "Kind of like anthropology," he finished with a wry chuckle. 

Bones gave him that slow smile of hers that she did on the occasions when he'd made just the right connection and Booth couldn't help but grin back.

"Maybe you're right, Booth," she laid her head back on his shoulder. "Maybe the stories keep them with us," she agreed.

Brennan's eyes flitted over the crowd and if they landed for a little bit longer on tall lanky kids with dark hair that curled around their ears and across their forehead well, Booth couldn't see because his eyes were trained on the crowd too.


End file.
